From
International Journal of Ethics, Vol. 46, No. 4, July, 1936,
473-83. “Our very apprehension of the imminence of a future act changes
the environment which makes the act imminent.”
June 31, 2009
On a Fallacy in
“Scientific Fatalism”
Susanne K. Langer
Like a long-forgotten photograph by chance re-covered—some close friend
of far-off days—Professor Perry’s Thought and Character of William
James suddenly reminds us of that great and genial American whose
vivid nature dominated an aca-demic era, who always seemed to stand in
the very center of vital discussions and to see the immediate issues
that were shaping themselves out of the new ideas and experiments of his
time. Most of these issues, if they have not been settled, at least
have paled a little, displaced by more crying problems, or perhaps
obscured by some shift of emphasis, some new slant on old ideas; Monism
and Pluralism no longer hold the philosophical stage, Functional
Psychology has become too respectable to cause any commotion, even
Optimism and Pessimism now-adays do not force our choice between them.
Revealed Religion and Evolution have fought out their enmity, and the
former has retreated to its last stronghold in the hills of a southerly
state. Like a faded photograph, James’s impassioned letters now show
the contours of those philosophical chimaeras, as they looked in their
young and untried strength.
But one of the questions that seriously agitated James, though little
discussed by men of letters at present, is still alive and vital to many
thoughtful minds: that is the question of determinism versus true
freedom of action. It is a perennial problem; for it is not only a
theoretical affair, but a moral issue; once the philosophers have raised
it, the laity cannot forget it. It was raised long before there were
professional thinkers. The “insolubilium” it presented to James’s
generation was merely a new version of a Sphynxian riddle. But every
option presents itself in its peculiar style until it is either resolved
or circumvented, and this one has met with neither fate as yet. It is
to us, as it was to our fathers and teachers, a living problem—the
Dilemma of Determin-ism. So, despite its age, I may be pardoned for
rousing this sleeping dog once more, for the purpose of finally
dispatching it.
The doctrine of determinism, in its philosophic form, is a modern
version of belief in Fate. On the basis of this identification a
veritable war has been waged between those who, in the interests of
science, welcomed the idea of a closed causal system, and those who,
from moral considerations, found it abhorrent. As usual, assent and
denial were given before anyone made a logical analysis of the concepts
involved, or traced the actual implications of the dogma that is
supposed (both by its supporters and its haters) to re-establish
Fatalism in the modern world. Yet these concepts, besides being
exciting, are also very interesting from a logical standpoint. The
connection between causal determinism and fatalism is not simple—in
fact, they have at one time stood in contradiction to each other—and
their identification rests on a genuine, howbeit somewhat “technical,”
mistake. A demon-stration of this momentous misconception dispels the
phantom Fate, and shows us once more—if we care to draw the moral—how
heedlessly the “will to believe” outruns logical inference, and jumps at
the most vigorously beckoning conclusion.
It may be well, before challenging the view that determinism implies
fatalism, to consider the latter in its classical form.1 In
ancient mythology, the destinies of certain men were laid down by the
mystic agency of a god; and struggle as they might, these men must
consummate their assigned triumphs or sufferings, though the end might
be reached by unpredictable paths. In the Christian doctrine of
predestination the same fatalistic element prevails: it matters not how
hard the soul may struggle that is initially condemned, or how low the
elect may fall through his own guilt; the conclusion of every career is
written in the stars before ever the race is run.
This belief in the omnipotence of destiny has always been countered by
an equally primitive philosophy of individual action: of responsibility,
justice, personal initiative, in short, of prevision and purpose within
a purely causal, indifferent universe. As a man sows, so shall he reap.
The very struggle of a doomed hero against his fate expresses his
unbelief in the absoluteness of doom. The reason why the spectator,
knowing the end to be inevitable, does not regard the struggler merely
as a fool, is that he sympathizes with the philosophy of effective
action even while he accepts the philosophy of fate. There is a strange
conflict of two doctrines that seem to be equally fundamental: the
belief that man is a puppet in the hands of higher powers, and the
belief that his future is “Karma,” a function of his own deeds,
determined wisely or unwisely, for better or worse, by his own
decisions.
Ancient mythology and Christian mysticism gra-dually yielded to the
conception of a thoroughgoing causal order, wherein the power of Words,
the agency of charms and curses, have no place whatever. The universe
of our scientific era is a huge network of causal relations, wherein
each term, i.e., each physical event, is connected directly with its
next neighbors: determined by events immediately preceding, and itself
the origin of the terms which immediately follow. In such a world a
man’s actions of today determine his fortunes for tomorrow. By
understanding the nature of causal connection, by learning the rules of
the cosmic game, he can exploit those relationships, he can play his
hand in that game. No evil star, no malevolent deity presides over his
life; no high destiny or heavenly crown is his birthright. He must make
his bed as he would lie in it. The philosophy of causation, which
reasons from item to item, has defeated the mystical metaphysics of a
younger age, which interpreted present and future as the fulfilment of a
divine plan—a preordained drama, wherein men were merely actors whose
parts were written in advance—a sham battle, like the conflict between
Ahura Mazda and Ahriman, which must turn against the latter, whatever
may occur between the beginning and the end. In the cosmology of
science, every occurrence matters; every event creates a new situation;
and any claim to clairvoyance, beyond a natural knowledge of given
causes, is humbug and deception.
A world of causal relations is necessary, indeed, for intelligent
action, and consequently is a prerequi-site for the existence of any
aim, intent, or responsi-bility. But there is a joker in this deck,
nonetheless: the very thoroughness of our belief in causation is the
joker. For, by this doctrine, every act we perform has not only an
effect, but a cause as well; it is itself the effect of a cause, which
in turn is a consequence of an earlier cause, and so on ad infinitum.
What we do today determines what shall happen tomorrow, but since
causation is regressive, our deed is by no means the ultimate cause; all
the causes of our act are causes of its consequences. There is an
endless chain of causes, wherein each link connects any cause in its
past with any consequent in its future, and from given causes there
can be only one set of effects. If all causes up to a given
cross-section of the world’s events were known, all consequences would
be unequivocally determined. So we do, indeed, suffer the consequences
of our own acts, but we have acted only as the events of our past have
predestined us to act. The upshot of scientific philosophy, then, is
that responsibility becomes just as meaningless here as in a doom-driven
tragedy; our struggle against heredity is as vain as the hero’s fight
against fate; we are once more the puppets in a show, the innocent dupes
of destiny.
This is the doctrine of determinism, which is generally regarded as a
modern version of fatalism. Not only for demigods and heroes, but for
every one of us, the future is established from all eternity, and from
it there is no escape by wit, or luck, or heavenly intervention. Only,
it is not a god, a mystic Will, or a bad fairy that spells our fate; it
is Nature itself that is in conflict with our ideals and ambitions and
our dream of freedom.
Whatever step we take, whatever we do, say, or even think, a world-old
decree of Nature stands behind the act. Each word and thought, each
breath that we draw, realizes an appointed occasion. For, in the great
world-order, it has causes that could have had no other effect than just
this one, and anyone who had known those causes could have predicted the
personal act which is their inevitable consequent.
“Anyone who had known those causes”; this clause conveys a crucial
assumption in the philoso-phy which may be termed “scientific fatalism”:
the assumption that there is a theoretically knowable collection of
causes for any act. In the mystical order of fate and fulfilment, there
is a simple correlation between one event of the past—the act of divine
or demonic Will that creates the destiny by fiat—and one event of the
future, the dramatic climax which completes it. Whatever may be the
source of the oracle that declares such a predetermined fate, the
connection between the spell which is the cause and the disaster or
triumph that is its effect is a simple relation between two terms. The
nature of this relation is mystical, for it does not postulate a causal
chain wherein every link follows necessarily and unequivocally from a
first cause. The links are vari-able; the end may come about by one
means or another; if there be interference with one line of ap-proach,
another will be taken. The only certain con-sequence of the first event
is the last. When this relationship has been declared to us, we can
grasp its logical structure: the end follows simply—though we know not
why from the beginning. The hero may know his fate, or not know it, his
knowledge has no bearing at all on the final act. Other people may know
it, but their knowledge has no causal con-nection with his doom. At
most, it may alter the way this doom is accomplished. Had Oedipus not
been exposed in the forest, he would not have met his father as a
stranger on the road; but he would presu-mably have slain him in civil
strife, or by some gymnastic accident, or in his cups. The
foreknow-ledge on the part of his elders could alter only the manner,
not the nature, of his destiny. The cause of his mischance was solely a
work of the Fates. If the decree of these mystic beings was known, as
it was supposed to be upon the word of the oracle, then the future event
which it determined could be known just as surely: for here was one
cause and one effect, and nothing else was relevant to the occurrence of
the latter, than the fact that this cause was given.
It is different with scientific determinations. Surely, every act has a
cause; and if the total state of the universe at any time before the
occurrence of an act could be known, the act could be theoretically
foreseen. But if there were such knowledge on the part of any human
being, this knowledge itself would constitute an item in the “total
state of the universe,” and would alter the conditions of which the act
in question was supposed to be a result. Let us say, then, that what is
to be known is the state of the universe, including our knowledge of the
future act and its relation to the given state. But this complex, if it
be known, again becomes augmented by the knowledge of which it is the
object. Such a “total state of the universe” is what Whitehead and
Russell have called an “illegitimate totality,” a whole which cannot be
theoretically constructed.2 Present knowledge of the future
is itself a cause of events in the future; therefore it cannot be
knowledge of all the causes that operate upon the future. Quite aside
from the human impossibility of knowing more than a negligible amount
about the state of the universe at any time, even a hypothetical
supermind could not know that total state, because such a total would
have to include the knowledge itself. In short, there is no such
totality.
There are certain events which can be predicted with fair accuracy,
because we have learned that only a certain class of previous events is
causally relevant to them, and that our thoughts and feelings, our
knowledge or ignorance, are not in this class. Notably in physical
science the relevant antecedents of an event may be known, and the
knowledge of them add nothing to them, so the event may be predicted.
Yet every scientific prediction is made with the tacit reservation:
“Other things being equal.” The expression “other things” refers to the
immense body of relevant facts which is steady and familiar enough to be
presupposed without explicit mention. There is a constant environment
wherein the causal connection takes place. This environment is itself a
complex of causes for any event that occurs in it; the slightest change
in it creates a new causal nexus, and stands out as a definite new
agency.
Now, in the case of personal activities, although we have undoubtedly a
perfectly good causal pro-gression, wherein each member is unequivocally
determined by certain preceding members, it is not true that the
determining complex may be known, for in the causation of personal acts
this knowledge is not itself irrelevant, as it is in physics. The
environ-ment of the causal process is changed by a know-ledge of causal
connections; the knowledge itself destroys the original situation. Even
as we think and learn about the consequences of our present activities,
we are altering the sum total of those very activities. To collect the
premises, the relevant causes, of our own future is like carrying water
in a sieve; there is no steady environment wherein any given cause may
be said with certainty to entail one definite effect, so long as that
effect is in the future. The sort of prediction that rests on the
understand-ing: “Other things being equal,” is unattainable in ethics
and social science, because other things are never equal. Our very
apprehension of the immi-nence of a future act changes the environment
which makes the act imminent.
Only in so far as our knowledge is not itself a relevant factor, can
future effects of present human situations be foreseen; that means that
at best we can foresee developments along very general, broad lines,
with plenty of leeway for “chance variations.” That is why we can
predict social events only with the sort of accuracy that belongs to
statistical calcula-tions, never with the precision of a laboratory
experiment: “If this, then that, other things being equal.” If by the
predictability of an event we mean its unfailing consequence upon known
causes, then we must admit that personal acts are not only practically
unpredictable, because of the immense complexity and variety of their
causes, but theoretically as well, because “all the causes of an act,”
before the act itself has taken place, form an “illegitimate
totality.”
But this does not mean that acts are not causally produced, that they
spring from chance, caprice, or nothing at all. Every act undoubtedly
has a gapless family tree of responsible ancestors, and is
unambig-uously determined by them. But this detailed, complete, and
flawlessly rational determination is not accessible to our view except
in retrospect, since any access to it in advance of its completion would
destroy it.
“Determinism” is the assumption that every event has immediate causes
through which it may be completely understood. This appears to be a
tenable thesis and, for all scientific purposes, an indispen-sable one.
But the supposed implication that, if an event is thus determined by
its immediate antece-dents, it must be predictable from them, rests on a
fallacy, and the fallacy in its turn rests on a hasty generalization
from physical science, where predicta-bility does happen to go with
determinateness. In the sphere of human activity it does not. There
the future is necessarily obscure, although the past might theoretically
be understood in every detail.
The sting of “Determinism” lies in the notion that the future is really
predictable,3 that only our ignor-ance hides it from us, and
that somewhere—in the mind of God, perhaps—it is already known. Since
causality is transitive, the “ultimate cause” of any act may be traced
back to the causes of its causes, etc., and we may choose at random any
“totality” of facts in the remote past as the starting-point for
predicting any act in the future. But in truth the “totality” of
cumulative causes breaks up at exactly the point which is, for the
knower, the present; for here his knowledge enters in as a fact, and
makes the “totality” impossible.
It is a short step from the belief that the future is predictable by
knowledge of a remote past to the belief that the future is peculiarly
determined by some pre-eminent moment of the world’s past history (this
being simply the “totality of facts” we happen to have chosen); and by a
figure of speech, to regard any future act as “decreed” in that
pre-eminent moment. This is the line of argument whereby determinism
has become identified with the doctrine of scientific fatalism. But all
that the old and the new concept of fatalism really have in common is
the notion of “doom,” the notion that some future act, known or unknown
to the agent of it, is somewhere already entertained as inevitable. The
fact that, in the fatalistic drama, a man may know his fate and struggle
against it, though his knowledge and his struggle are not causally
relevant to it at all, whereas in a deterministic universe the knowing
and the struggle are part of the immediate, relevant environment, and
determine the future just as much as they, in turn, were determined by
their past—this fact is overlooked in drawing the analogy. Yet this
indifference of intervening events is the essence of true fatalism.
Determinism merely maintains that what we will do tomorrow is just what
we will do tomorrow, and nothing else, and that if we knew how we were
going to do it, we would know what it was going to be. This is really
not a very radical or debatable proposition. The thesis of classical
fatalism, on the other hand, is that we know certain acts are going to
be performed tomorrow; how they will come about is obscure and
indifferent. Their causal origin is in a single past event and operates
in advance of the natural order, forcing that order into compliance with
the mystic connection. Truly, all that pure determinism and fatalism
hold in common is the notion that past and future are causally
connected, so that the future may be predicted from the past; and in a
completely causal universe, the latter half of that contention breaks
down for the case of human activities.
A purely retrospective determinism loses all dramatic interest. It
escapes between the horns of the dilemma which William James constructed
for it,4 and rests in the prosaic safe haven of common sense.
Everything a man does could be understood if we had enough scientific
insight; that is really all it claims. The supposed consequence, that
it makes no difference whether we exert ourselves or not, belongs to
fatalism, for in a genuine determinism every exertion has some effect,
and just what this will be depends on certain attendant causes, and is
not knowable. Now, if determinism does not entail predictability of the
future, there is no pragmatic difference between it and its alternative,
indetermin-ism5; since even an indeterminist would hardly be
ready to ascribe a complete lack of cause or motive to acts which are
accomplished, and maintain that they did not happen “somehow,” i.e.,
that they happened, but happened in no way at all. The choice between an
indeterminate future and a determinate unpredictable future is really
what James himself has called a “dead option”; his own desire “that
things not yet revealed to our knowledge may really in themselves be
ambiguous,”6 is in violation of all pragmatic principles, for
“ambiguous” could have no meaning for him except in relation to
knowability, and things “really in themselves” are absolutistic
chimeras. What can true ambiguity of the future mean, upon the
pragmatist theory of truth, but genuine radical unpredictability? In a
thoroughgoing determinism, we do not even have to assume this
unpredictability by any “hazard of faith”; it is demonstrably there.
The revolt against determinism is really a senti-mental revolt against
scientific fatalism, with which it has become fused in the philosophical
imagination. We can certainly no longer accept James’s statement that
“Fortunately, no ambiguities hang about this word or about its opposite,
indeterminism . . . . Their cold mathematical sound has no sentimental
associ-ations that can bribe our partiality in advance.”7
Two pages after this praise of impartiality, he speaks of “the
deterministic sentiment,” and tells us that “What makes us . . . .
determinists or indeterminists, is at bottom always some sentiment like
this.”
The fact is that the very essay from which I quote these remarks has
been enough to endow determinism, for a generation after, with all the
terrors of fatalism: predestination, the council of the gods,
inescapable fortune, doom. But what is Fate without the Oracle? What
is Fortune without the fortune-teller, or Doom without a decree? The
predictability of the future, the notion that it is already accomplished
for some mind, human or divine, that our ignorance of it is merely human
limitation, makes us feel like fools of heaven, puppets in a divine
comedy or tragedy. But any power of prevision is limited to a proper
part of the determinate world, namely, the realm of mechanical events,
facts. So, since the “total sum of causes of a future act” cannot be
constructed, the melancholy determinist knows no more than his sanguine
brother, the indeterminist. And if the god have a scientific secret, he
need not guard it in his holy bosom lest the Sybil betray it; for it is
beyond logic and language, in the limbo of the Inconceivable.
Notes
1
The relation between these two concepts was recently discussed, and very
clearly defined, by E. V. McGilvary in his article “Freedom and
Necessity in Human Affairs,” which appeared in this journal for July,
1935.
2
Cf. Principia mathematica, Vol. I, chap. ii, for the original
statement of the fallacy of types; or, for a somewhat simplified
version, R. M. Eaton’s General Logic.
3
Cf. William James, “The Dilemma of Determinism,” in The Will To
Believe (New York, 1897), p. 152: “If we are determinists, we talk
about the infallibility with which we can predict one another’s conduct;
while if we are indeterminists, we lay great stress on the fact that it
is just because we cannot foretell one another’s conduct . . . . that
life is so intensely anxious and hazardous a game.”
4
Op. cit.
5
The identity of determinateness with predictability is taken for granted
by Professor McGilvary, when he says (op. cit., p. 384) “. . .
the smallest events in the physical world are matters of chance in the
literal sense of the word. The exact movements of an electron can no
more be predicted by the physicist than the exact date of a man’s death
can be foretold by an actuary.”
6
Op. cit., p. 150.
7
Ibid.